(excerpts from Fever: The origins of fever)

Fallen men always have messed up eyes that say much more than they did when still propped up by the proud arrogance of affluence. As the only true instruments of communication for a messed up and ruined person, the eyes of a fallen person say they have finally seen pride as a tangible commodity that can be found and lost in a world that identifies and recognizes with material success and failure mainly. People mostly equate every virtue or substance in their selfish terms of elaborately ransomed pledges. This passes off as such a vain concept to all those who are yet to experience that implying divorce of real materialism from the physical object they have been in strong emotional attachment with.

Man hasn’t yet redeemed himself from this despicable existence of perpetual desires, needs and wants, sprinkled all over his manifesting hypocrisy of a normal existence. It is like the perpetually incomplete tower he is ever setting out to build, ridicules and teases him so that he shouldn’t complete it. Ultimately each man surpassed a simple respectable existence with forcibly contemplating political ideologies and shamefully endures their self-inflicted unpleasant consequences.

It is by surrendering its wool to shearers that the sheep still walks the earth free of the guilt it shouldn’t have had. It only lives on for this reason and can redirect its focus to again growing the wool it repeatedly owes its life to.

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